Insomnia
by Meia the Maia
Summary: In Minas Tirith, Frodo is having trouble getting back to sleep. Aragorn offers to help him. Mild slash.


Author's Note: This is my first attempt at writing anything remotely slashy, so please tell me how I did and/or suggest improvements!

Insomnia

Frodo sighed as he curled up on his side and pulled the covers in close around him. Closing his eyes, he tried once again to fall back to sleep. Not five minutes later, he sighed again as he flung the covers off and flopped onto his back, still trying to keep up the pretense that he was going to go back to sleep, though the trying was giving him a headache.

The grey pre-dawn light beginning to seep in his window mocked him with the inexorable coming of the day as he tried in vain to figure out if he was hot or cold. Drat this southern weather! In the Shire, it was always clear whether he was warm or not, but here... here the air was cool, but something made him sweat like a stuck pig every time he burrowed under his quilts.

After pulling up and throwing down the covers several more times, he sat up and glared at the empty room. For a moment he was thankful he had his own room, since Sam would undoubtedly be fussing over him if he knew his master wasn't able to sleep. No, he could handle it himself.

And this situation called for a glass of water. Perhaps after that, he could sleep. Well, after that, he'd either be tired again, or awake enough that sleep would no longer be a possibility. He hoped it would not be the latter.

Carefully opening his door and peeking out, he found the corridor empty. Good. He padded into the hall, sneaking past the closed doors on either side of the hall, hoping that Sam or his cousins weren't awake enough to hear him shuffle by. The door to the study was also closed, which confused him momentarily, but he just shrugged and continued down the deserted hallway.

He'd almost reached the kitchen when the sound of a door opening made him freeze in his tracks. "Frodo?" asked a quiet voice, and the hobbit turned to see Aragorn emerging from the study. "Why are you awake so early?"

"I could ask the same of you," Frodo retorted. "At least I live here."

The King laughed softly. "You are quite correct," he conceded. "I was conferring with Gandalf regarding several matters. And what excuse do you have to be up and about?"

"I was going to get some water," Frodo replied.

"Can't you sleep?" the Man asked, a concerned look on his face as he crouched to hobbit eye-level.

Frodo avoided his gaze. "The air does funny things here. It's cool, but it makes you warm anyway..."

Aragorn had to keep from smiling both at Frodo's words and at the hobbit's unintentional appearance of an embarrassed child. "Yes, the air is different here, more moist. It does take some getting used to."

"So I was getting some water before trying to go back to sleep." Frodo regarded him seriously.

"I see," Aragorn answered, equally serious. "How about I get you a drink and you can go back to your room, and see if I can't help you get to sleep?"

The hobbit looked uncertain, but reluctantly agreed, and wandered somewhat dazedly back to his room. The Man stood up as he watched the hobbit leave, still struck by how much the halfling looked like a child in an adults' world rather than like the adult he really was.

Frodo was lying in bed, staring gloomily out the window at the ever-lightening sky when Aragorn came in and perched on the edge of the bed. "Here," he said, offering the glass he held to the hobbit as Frodo sat up and accepted it.

"What is it?" he asked curiously, sniffing experimentally. Didn't smell too bad, in fact it smelled rather nice, but it certainly wasn't plain water...

"Rose water, distilled from roses. It's said to be very soothing."

"Oh," Frodo murmured as he began sipping it. It was rather good, though it was strange to think it'd been made from flowers. Once he'd finished it, he handed the cup back to Aragorn before lying back down. He stared up at the ceiling once again with a sigh.

"Anything else bothering you?" the King asked after placing the cup on the nightstand.

"I've just given myself a headache, is all," Frodo admitted, closing his eyes.

Aragorn did not answer, but instead put his fingers to the hobbit's temples and began slowly massaging. "Does that help?"

Frodo made a noise of appreciation and relaxed under the hands of the King. Aragorn watched Frodo's face as the flush of being overheated gradually faded and the peaceful mien of one floating on the edge of sleep took its place. While his fingers were gently rubbing along the edges of the other's face, his eyes were caught up in a careful appreciation of the hobbit's fine features.

After a time, he assumed Frodo had fallen asleep, for the hobbit had not even so much as twitched in some minutes, and was breathing slowly and evenly. His eyes were drawn to the hobbit's lips, slightly parted in slumber, and was suddenly taken with a desire to... so he did.

They were just as soft as he had fleetingly imagined, and bore a glaze of rose water. He'd only intended a brief kiss, but was reluctant to stop now that he'd begun. When the lips began to slowly move in response, however, he was startled and jerked up to see half-lidded, unfocused eyes regarding him.

"I-I'm sorry," he stuttered as he hurriedly heaved himself off the bed and moved to leave.

Frodo's response reached him as he was just about to step out of the room. "Don't be."


End file.
